


I Like It When You Call Me

by Fickle_Obsessions



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Era, Daddy Kink, Embarrassment, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 13:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7758904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fickle_Obsessions/pseuds/Fickle_Obsessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lafayette thinks it dozens of times before he actually says it. </p><p>A simple fic where the tags tell you everything you need to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like It When You Call Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a tumblr prompt, and then it was requested to get shipped to AO3. I do what I can to oblige. Even when it ends with me blushing furiously. This obviously owe a hell of a debt to [triedunture](http://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture)'s [The Mistranslation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6712789), a far superior and nuanced fic.

Lafayette thinks it dozens of times before he actually says it. He imagines that he is biding his time to build up his courage but apparently he is only waiting to forget himself. He blurts it out quite unintentionally, when exhausted after a rapid march back to camp after a short skirmish with the British, after he has already spilled into Washington’s hand and will soon be doing it again. He is braced upon his hands and knees, keening every time he is jostled by Washington’s hips, when the rhythm, which had been so steady and measured, suddenly picks up.

Everything suddenly going from good to better, Lafayette moans, “Oui, papa,” in forgetful exaltation when one of Washington’s hands moves from Lafayette’s hip to his cock.

He hardly knows he’s said it, is only waiting for the next thrust, a firmer grip, but Washington stops, pressing his palm against Lafayette’s stomach at the same time he leans all the way down to press his forehead against Lafayette’s shoulder. Confused, Lafayette casts his mind around for what could have caused such a reaction and hears, horrifyingly, an echo of his own voice calling Washington papa. As they did _this._

Lafayette knows that it is not possible to die of embarrassment, he would have done that already when the Queen laughed at him, but it’s terrible, truly terrible to have to choke on a sob, and babble, “I’m sorry, I did not- I do not.”

Washington’s hand moves again, sliding over to wrap firmly around Lafayette’s waist. He gentles Lafayette like a horse, whispering “shh” as he strokes his side. “It’s all right.”

Lafayette squeezes his eyes shut, miserable. He holds himself rigid, waiting for Washington to pull himself free, to abandon their coupling for some other time when Lafayette has control of his senses. Instead Washington sits up, puts his hands on Lafayette’s shoulders, and draws him up and back until Lafayette is sitting spread across Washington’s thighs. Impatient to be left alone with his mortification, Lafayette tries to disengage himself, but Washington stops him, looping an arm around again and securing it over Lafayette’s hips.

Washington’s free hand lifts up, cups Lafayette’s jaw, and the firm pressure of his thumb turns Lafayette’s face to look at him.

“Did you want to call me that?” Washington asks him. 

Washington is looking at him so intently that Lafayette knows it will be useless to lie. He nods. 

And Washington sucks in a breath. The pressure on Lafayette’s jaw yields, and Washington’s fingers slip down to splay across his chest.

“What,” Washington asks next, “would you like me to call you?”

Lafayette whimpers, eyes closed as his heart somehow finds a way to beat even faster. He must take a few deep breaths before he can speak, before he can admit, “Your boy.”

Washington’s hips shove forward as if they moved of their own intention, making Lafayette gasp and break out into a fresh sweat across his shoulders. The arm across his hips shifts, and Washington takes up Lafayette’s flagging erection. “But you are that,” Washington says while Lafayette writhes as he strokes him. “You are my boy.”

Lafayette moans almost musically, hitting a little trio of desperate notes. “Papa,” he sighs. And again, “Papa.”

Washington groans as he sets the pace again with renewed vigor. Eventually he eases Lafayette back down, chiding Lafayette when he shoves back, needy. “Let a father take care of his boy,” he says, sounding so indulgent.

Lafayette curses in French and hopes that Washington will not recognize an oath in a foreign tongue. Only he is sure he will not survive this, he’s hot enough that he will burn until there is nothing left. Even so a moment later he says, “Papa, please,” just to prove to himself that he can, that if he does Washington will fuck him harder.

Washington does, hard enough to make Lafayette bow his back and keen. Washington sounds so breathless, so awed when he says, “My boy,” that Lafayette is startled by tears of relief stinging the corners of his eyes. 

He drops his shoulders, hiding his face against his forearms so that he can let the tears come as they may while he ignores them in favor of each of Washington’s thrusts. Then again there is a hand on his cock, stroking so firmly that Lafayette knows Washington needs him to come soon, come now. Lafayette sobs once, twice, then obliges him.

For a moment Lafayette is so overwhelmed by it that he can only feel Washington seeking his own release as if from a distance, but after few moments of desperate panting he seems to drop back into his body, begins to feel the little bit of soreness in his back, in his straining thighs. 

He can feel Washington’s strain, too, how quick, how frantic, his rhythm has become. To help him Lafayette croons, “Yes, papa. Let your boy have all of you. Papa, please.”

And there, that it is it. Washington’s hands tighten on Lafayette’s hips until they almost hurt, and he thrusts one more time and stays buried. Lafayette relaxes, and waits contentedly for Washington to catch his breath. He does not make Lafayette wait very long, slips out from between Lafayette’s thighs and pulls him up along the bed until he is resting tucked alongside Washington, his head on Washington’s shoulder.

Lafayette manages somehow to feel shy as he drags his fingertips through the dark hair on Washington’s chest. He could not look Washington in the face if he tried, but he is happy. And his happiness will be perfect if only Washington does not regret it, does not find that after the apex of his pleasure that he must descend into shame.

Washington is a long time quiet, clearly deep in thought while his hand smooths up Lafayette’s arm and down again. “I had no idea,” he says finally. “That I would like it so much.”

And Lafayette lets out the breath he has been holding. “I am glad,” he confesses. “Because I cannot help it.”

Washington chuckles at him, unconcerned. “Then do not. Call me it as often as you like.”

Lafayette looks up at him, lets himself smile. “That will be all the time, I hope you know.”

“Well,” Washington says, considering that. “Perhaps not among company then.”

Lafayette lays his head back down, sighs. “As you wish, Papa.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [tumblr,](http:fickleobsessions.tumblr.com) where I am constantly kinkshaming myself.


End file.
